Enough
by Glass Houses
Summary: After TPM, Bail Organa wants more than he should


Title: Enough  
Author: Glass Houses (ghouses@yahoo.com)  
Pairing: B/O, Q/O implied  
Rating: PG  
Status: Complete  
Archive: CKoS, M_A, BailNow! if they want it, all others please ask  
Category: POV, angst  
Feedback: You betcha! Onlist or off, good or bad, I can take it.  
Disclaimer: "This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended." That's my story and I'm sticking to it.   
Summary: Bail wants more than he should  
Notes: Thanks to Fox for a swift, thorough, tense stomping beta. ;-)  
  
*******  
  
I'd thought what we had could be enough. I knew what he had lost -- *who* he had lost. I knew he'd come to me more because of my sheer desire and his loneliness than out of any real romantic attachment. Oh, he loved me well enough. He loved his Padawan, his friends, the Jedi Order, the Republic. But I knew the contact was physical, not spiritual. His soul wasn't his to give. He'd given it away a long time ago. I knew these things, knew the limitations.  
  
But as time passed and we became closer, more familiar with each other, I began to want. Wanted the kiss with which we greeted each other to mean more than welcome. Wanted the touches after sex to be more than soothing gestures as we both came down from the high. I wanted that longing in his eyes to disappear when he looked my way and saw *me*. It is only human nature to want more than we have.  
  
One night I broke the unspoken rules. I challenged him on it. I deliberately spoke of a permanent commitment. There is an old Alderaan tradition called embracement. It's antiquated, and mostly practiced only by the ruling houses now, but it is a ceremony binding two people in love to each other. I deliberately spoke -- in speculative terms, of course -- of the details of the ceremony and of the formal roles my parents and siblings would play. Of what his place would be in Alderaan society should such an event occur, and what consequences there might be for him in the Jedi order.  
  
I said these things to him when we'd enjoyed each other's bodies after not seeing each other for several tenths. Duty often kept us apart for considerable lengths of time. I'd gotten up from the bed to get something to drink, and was sitting close by in a comfortable chair while he still lay in bed, looking at the ceiling. I sounded like an immature society girl, yet I couldn't seem to stop. Then it occurred to me, in a flash of clarity, that there'd never been a time for me when I hadn't wanted more from our relationship. It had never been casual, or even about deep friendship, for me. I'd deluded myself all along, and was finally forcing an issue I hadn't realized I had.  
  
I don't know what self-destructive streak I'd discovered in myself that made me do this. The *want* had become too strong. I've always been an optimist. Maybe I believed he would give me this -- give me at least the trappings of a deeper love.  
  
I should have known better. Obi-Wan was nothing if not scrupulously honest, and that included not lying to himself or to me.  
  
That made me stop babbling -- finally -- and look up at him; really *look* at him. His face was such a perfect mask of sadness and regret. For himself? No. Regret that he'd misread me, misread the situation. That he couldn't make it better for me.  
  
"Bail, I can't commit to that with you...with anyone." He finally sat up and looked at me. The diplomat struggled for many long seconds, finally saying only, "I can't -- I thought you knew."  
  
Tell him it's all right! Tell him I didn't mean those things and that I know both our lives are committed to our duty, and to others. Tell him I'm ready for round two. Do anything except stare at him with a defiant challenge in my gaze!  
  
But I couldn't say any of those things. I, too, am a basically honest person -- for all that I deal in the ambiguities of politics.  
  
"I do know. But...I love you," I finally said. He needed to know that -- to know I wasn't putting him through this because I wanted him as some sort of trophy or political pawn. He deserved the truth -- no matter how hard it was to say those three words knowing I'd never hear them back.  
  
He understood what kind of love I spoke of. He slowly began to dress, not rushing or cutting any corners. He wouldn't flee my rooms with his boots in his hands. When he was ready, he came to where I sat and leaned down, and stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Then he walked out the door.  
  
I'd thought what we had could be enough. I was wrong.  
  
The End 


End file.
